"There - it's her!"
"...You who stand before the gates,
You who have followed me into the heart of evil,
The fear of death is in your eyes; its hand is upon your throat.
Raise your voices to the heavens! Remember:
Not alone do we stand on the field of battle…"
Herah woke with a start, shivering. The fire in her chambers burned low, and she scrambled out of bed to reinvigorate the flames. Cassandra's voice reciting the Chant of Light echoed in the back of her mind and she wondered at the second time dreaming about her; she had barely been conscious as the Seeker prayed over her in the frozen pass outside of Haven. Several times she came close to asking about it, or maybe thanking her, but could never find the words or the right moment. She shook away the thought and set about laying fresh logs onto what was left of the old to warm up her room, careful not to catch her broad, curling horns on the lip of the stone fireplace.
Since that night in the Frostbacks after Haven fell, Herah couldn't bear the cold. It reminded her too much of the blizzard she stumbled through on the trail of the fleeing Inquisition and the chill that never seemed to leave her for days after she woke and began to recover. Even on warmer days among the snowy peaks, there was always a fire burning strong and bright in the Inquisitor's chambers overlooking the formerly abandoned castle.
Skyhold was proving to be more of a home than anywhere Herah found herself before. The soaring mountains in every direction were a far cry indeed from the Storm Coast and the Free Marches, but here they were safer, Cullen assured her. He was certain that as their numbers grew and repairs were completed, Skyhold could become one of the most defensible headquarters for leagues around. She could only do her part to help rebuild and hope that he was right.
The glowing green Anchor in her left hand throbbed. It did that more and more these days, aching and pulsating like some new, foreign heart. Since the failed attempt to close the Breach, she had done her best to grit her teeth and work through the pain; no potions or salves helped much and eventually she learned to stop asking. It seemed the only way to have any peace, personal or otherwise, would be to close the Breach for good - something Herah knew was easier said than done. She sighed and clenched her fist.
Outside, she saw the sky lightening ever so slightly and began to dress. More sleep might have done her some good, but so could a sparring session or a head start on mapping her next moves for the coming weeks. The Western Approach seemed promising, with rumors of Venatori clusters and forts ripe for the taking - but then in the Hinterlands, loose ends remained in rifts, securing supplies for scouts and soldiers, and looking into a High Dragon. It would be a long trip east, she decided, before she would entangle herself and her party in the Western Approach.
Downstairs in the main hall, Herah seated herself next to Scout Harding. The two became fast friends after her arrival in the Hinterlands, and they met as often as possible to take a step away from their duties and pretend they didn't have responsibilities. Herah liked Harding's grim sense of humor out in the field, and looked forward to hearing her reports whenever she entered new areas.
"Morning," Harding yawned, spreading butter over a slice of dark bread. "You look like hell."
Herah grimaced. "Who doesn't these days?"
"Fair point. Josephine was looking for you earlier, said something about Empress Celene?"
Nodding, she filled a plate with bread and fruit and took a cup of milk. "Best not keep her waiting. I'll be leaving within the next couple days, for the Hinterlands. I could use some shooting practice."
Harding saluted over her long drink of water. "I'll be in the yard by the time you finish with Lady Montilyet," she said when she finished, wiping her mouth. "And maybe awake."
Mornings were always slow at Skyhold, even with all the work to be done. In the brief walk from the tables to Josephine's office door, Herah saw cold, tired eyes everywhere and knew it wasn't just from the early hour. The wounds from Haven were still raw: she heard it in the echoing prayers in the alcove with a statue of Andraste near the garden, saw it in the carts of bodies being wheeled away for burial or burning, felt it in the late nights she sometimes spent in the tavern. But she could also see healing in the songs coming from that same alcove, the steady decline of carts leaving Skyhold, and the nightly uptick in laughter and noise in the Herald's Rest as time crawled on. If nothing else, there was still hope.
She found Josephine at her desk like always and wondered if she ever left it. A plate of half-eaten cheese and bread perched precariously on one corner, crowded out by uncharacteristically messy piles of papers, envelopes, and quills. The Lady herself looked disheveled and frantic as she tried in vain to sort through it all, dark eyes flicking from letter to letter in search of who knew what. When she finally noticed Herah, she dropped the stack in her hand and sighed, pressing her knuckles into her forehead.
"Please, Inquisitor, sit," she said, gesturing at the chairs before her. "I did not mean to interrupt your morning."
"I wanted an early start anyway," Herah shrugged, taking a bite out of an apple.
"There is grave news from the Orlesian Empire. I was not able to secure an invitation to the Grand Masquerade; it seems we are not important enough, we don't hold enough influence. It will take weeks of work to earn our way in!"
Before Josephine could continue, Herah held up her hand. "That's what you do best, isn't it? You write letters, earn favors, generate influence. It might take work, but I don't doubt your skills, Josephine. I'll do what I can in the field, too - there's no shortage of opportunities out there."
"For the Empress's sake, I hope so. Here, take this list. These are people to look out for in your travels - with luck, they will hold enough sway to improve our chances before time runs out. And, Inquisitor - be safe. We will be waiting for you when you return."
After she finished her breakfast and left for the training yard, Herah felt the same quiet fear she saw dawning in Josephine's deep black eyes.
Maps and objectives in hand, Herah wound her way throughout Skyhold to gather her party for the upcoming expedition to the Hinterlands and the Western Approach. There would be stops back in Skyhold between each phase of the mission to garner influence while tying up some loose ends, but it would be a long and grueling trip nonetheless. She found herself once again humbled by the willingness of her friends to follow to the ends of the earth and back home again, all in the efforts of ending another war.
She sought out Sera first, climbing the stairs in the sparsely-occupied Herald's Rest to find her only just then crawling out of bed. The elf blinked sleepily up at her and stifled a yawn before asking, "Time for another camping trip, yeah?"
Herah nodded, replying, "Afraid so. It's a long one." She went over the maps and list of nobles to impress with her, patiently pausing for every sleep-addled question. When she finished, Sera shrugged.
"More big people that don't care about us little ones. Count me in, though. I've been itching to shoot something."
"Excellent. Be ready at dawn."
Sera's grumbling faded as Herah thumped back down the stairs and came across Iron Bull walking in with Krem and a few of the other Chargers. "Early start?" she asked, nodding at Krem and giving Bull a pat on the arm.
"'Course, Boss. Gotta stay nice and loose." He laughed low and a little too long. Krem rolled his eyes. "You heading out soon?"
"Tomorrow." She waved the papers in her hand. "Plenty of work to do. I was actually going to recruit you to come along, so don't be too hungover at dawn tomorrow."
Bull shuffled through the papers she handed to him and sniffed. "Sure thing, Boss. One thing though - the Bull doesn't get hungover."
"Tell that to the barrel in your bedroom," Krem quipped, dodging a swat at his head.
Cassandra was the last one she needed for the trip. Just behind the tavern, she was drilling like she did most days: on her own and with such a ferocity that one might have thought she was really in battle, if only in her eyes. Sweat shone on her scarred face and made her short black hair cling to her neck in small spirals; with every stroke of her chipped practice sword, she moved faster and struck harder.
Watching her reminded Herah of the first time they fought together - her in awe of the Seeker's capability, the Seeker sharp and unforgiving in her mistrust of the future Inquisitor's eagerness to fight with a bow. When the darkspawn came for them, all hesitation vanished and they worked together as if they'd had each others backs for years. She still remembered Cassandra's reluctant acceptance of her cooperation, and how fervently she apologized later. It all felt like ages ago, before the Elder One and red lyrium.
Now they were friends, or near enough to it that it would be useless to try and find a more suitable word. Sometimes they sat together for meals; sought each other out after a particularly long day in the field; and, in a few rare instances, shared each other's company when their dreams were not such friendly ones. Herah trusted Cassandra and felt that Cassandra trusted her, as much as she could - and didn't blame her for any misgivings she still carried. Neither of them knew what to make of the image of a Qunari woman leaving the Fade, leaving behind a dead or dying Divine, so for Cassandra to maintain a certain level of distance was expected.
After some time, she finally sheathed her practice sword and took a moment to catch her breath before approaching Herah. As she walked she stripped herself of her leather armor, the suit Bull teasingly called her "casual wear" in place of her heavier Chantry armor; her cheeks were ruddy and her hands carried a slight tremor from the effort of her drills. Herah, leaning against the rough wooden wall of the tavern, smiled in greeting.
"Inquisitor," Cassandra huffed, dropping her armor at her feet. She nodded at the crumpled papers in Herah's hand and set to unbuckling her greaves. "Those appear to be plans. When do we leave Skyhold?"
"I admire your efficiency," Herah said. "You should tutor the others."
"Hah! As if they would sit still long enough to hear a word I say." She wiped her forehead with her forearm and continued working at the buckles. "What is our plan?"
"We leave at dawn. There are some things to tie up in the Hinterlands, aid for soldiers and all; and a visit to the Western Approach to get the lay of the land and investigate the Venatori." Herah sighed. "A long trip. On top of it all, Josephine has asked that we look to generate influence wherever we can, so we can ensure an invitation to -"
"- to the Grand Masquerade." Cassandra grimaced. "An affair I am not looking forward to being a part of."
Herah raised an eyebrow. "Do you mean the affair of saving Empress Celene, or the affair of going to a ball in Orlais?"
"You should know me well enough to see the answer to that, Inquisitor. I am not fond of this Great Game. I would much rather make my threats plain than disguise them in sideways looks and the wrong kind of wine." The greaves finally surrendered, and she added them to the pile at her feet.
Of course Herah knew the answer. With Cassandra, there was always precision - in battle, in communication, even in tasks like armor and weapon maintenance - that didn't necessarily mesh well with other walks of life. The hardened warrior was out of place at events like balls and feasts because she could not parry, could not slash, could not raise a shield to deflect insults as she might deflect arrows. Much like frivolity and "dirty work" was unbecoming to Madam Vivienne, the Great Game was just not Cassandra's strength.
Herah nodded. "Fair point. But, I regret to say, I still need you there. I need everyone there, to show them the Inquisition is a force to be reckoned with. Even off the battlefield."
Cassandra seemed to almost smile. "I want you to know that you are the only person that could convince me this will be worth it. If someone like Varric had come to me and told me I would have to play nice with puffy Orlesians, I think I would have throttled him."
Thinking back to Hawke's return, she shrugged. "You still might. Who's to say?"
"So you do know me, Inquisitor. I'll see you at dawn."
Their work began at the crossroads. There they met Recruit Whittle, who marked apostate supply caches on Herah's map; she could see the truth in his concern all around them as they spoke. Refugees huddled together in small clusters all over, staring at Herah's party with wide, tired eyes and whispered like wind through summer leaves. Fear lay in a heavy fog amongst the hundreds of women, children, infirm, and elderly; seeping into the already blood-soaked ground at their feet. She shivered on their way out.
They passed by a campfire where armed refugees ate meager suppers and watched them warily while they passed. One with a bow at his back stood and came forward, saluting Herah when she stopped.
"Your Worship," he said. "Our folks are starving. I heard you're bringing back supplies. Might I ask a favor of you?"
She could feel her friends' eyes on the back of her neck. "How can I help?" she asked.
"Blankets are well and fine, and we'll appreciate them all the same, but we're hurting for food, Y'Worship. It's a good meal we need. There's rams all in them woods - should you happen to bring down a couple in your travels, the meat would be well received here. If you find yourself some time for a hunt, Y'Worship."
Herah nodded gravely, her chest aching. "I'll do what I can. I'm sorry the times have been so unkind to you."
The hunter scoffed. "Unkind to me? You've got the world looking up at you, screamin' to be saved. We're doing what we can." He bowed and took his leave.
As they left the Crossroads, Cassandra caught up with her. "It was good of you to help," she murmured. "In the grand scheme of the Inquisition, it is all too easy to lose sight of those left in the wake of war."
"Yeah, Boss," Bull chimed in. "Way to keep grounded."
The first night they camped in the Hinterlands, just south of the Crossroads, one of the scouts confirmed reports of a High Dragon in the eastern region of the Fereldan territory near the Dusklight camp. Bull was thrilled, but Cassandra paled at his eagerness to take on the beast. Sera goaded him into pestering Herah to take it on, but she only promised to "look into it" - which really meant getting close enough to look without attacking. They weren't in any shape to fight a dragon, much less kill it, and she didn't want to risk their lives for a long shot at glory.
"We can investigate before we leave for Skyhold," Herah begrudgingly allowed. "Right now we should focus on helping the refugees."
Sera paused from digging in her pack. "Bloody madness," she said, one corner of her mouth lifting slightly. "But fun madness, yeah?"
Supper was the same quiet affair as every other first night in the field. Bull sharpened his axe between bites of stew; Sera sat with her bow across her feet, having postponed the task of re-stringing it until after her dessert of half-crushed cookies; and Herah sat with Cassandra, eating without comment until she noticed how full the Seeker's bowl was, even after twenty minutes.
"Is everything alright?" Her voice was soft, always soft when she thought Cassandra might be troubled.
Cassandra sighed, stirring her stew in slow, lazy loops. "It is always hard," she said slowly, "to see the side effects of… of 'big people's' wars, as Sera would call it." Her eyes were downcast and distant under the flickering light of the fire. "It reminds me that the consequences of our actions may not always be so apparent in the war room."
Herah understood. The wounded eyes of the refugees had stayed with her all day, and watched her from the cracking, burning logs that gave the camp life. She hesitated, then lay a hand on her arm. It was warm, and she didn't withdraw from the touch. "Let it be a reminder to do good. A reminder that war isn't just figurines on a table and letters tied to a raven's foot."
"A wise suggestion, Inquisitor. Thank you." The Seeker gave her a long, searching look. "You always seem to know just what to say, do you know that? I admire that none of this has yet made you hard to the world. It is a trait we should all try to embody more often."
Dipping her head to hide the blush creeping up her neck, Herah smiled. "I'm glad of anything I can do to ease your troubles, Cassandra. I know times haven't been easy for you - for anyone." She gave Cassandra's arm a squeeze and returned to her stew, trying not to think too hard about how the Seeker's gaze lingered on the place where her fingers had been.
Herah started the next day early and led her party into the valleys to hunt. She and Sera did most of the work, the elf flanking each ram while she aimed at the front. Together they brought down four, until a roaming patrol of hostile templars interrupted their work; the fight was quick, but Bull came out of it with a deep cut on his leg and Cassandra bore a blossoming black eye. They passed around potions before deciding to move on to finding some supply caches before continuing their hunt.
Near Dwarfson's pass, Herah's Anchor sparked to life, interrupting her steady march south. Bull caught her when she stumbled, frowning, but didn't say a word. They pushed on and the rift came into view as they crested a low hill.
It was a bitter fight. Twice she came close to collapsing, but downed potions between shots to keep her steady; when Sera cried out, pinned by two demons, Herah fired explosive arrows her way and tossed her one. She was only able to disrupt the rift once before more demons and ghouls fell upon them, but in the end won out and sealed the glowing green tear in the world. The sun hung low after their trek and following battle, so she declared the day over and established an official camp not far from where the rift had opened. Her band of scouts and officers that always followed were quick to set up the tables while she and her party raised the sturdy tents.
In her dreams, Herah again found herself with Cassandra, sitting next to a fire that blinded her to the darkness that lay beyond it. The Seeker was humming softly as if she didn't know the other was there, cleaning her sword with swift sure strokes. Herah recognized the song from the Chantry but had no guess for its name.
She kept watching. The fire made shadows dance across Cassandra's sharp face and glimmered in her ever watchful eyes. It only made sense, she supposed, that the gentlest hold she had ever seen by her broad, scarred hands would be in the maintenance of her prized blade. But she soon halted her work, eyes turned to her left arm. Movements slow and uncertain as a low tide, she brushed her fingers over the spot where Herah had touched her before, and she smiled.
The next day when she woke, Herah felt the echoes of a strange ache lingering in the back of her mind.